Of Glorfindel And His Coming To Imladris
by GAMercy
Summary: A tale of the release of Glorfindel of Gondolin, the balrog slayer, from the Halls of Mandos, his journey to the realm of Imladris, and his acceptance into the House of Elrond. Will eventually contain Elrond/Glorfindel pairing.
1. Prologue

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Introduction: *** G A Mercy enters small office room and seats herself at large wooden desk before focusing on readers* **Hello, all. Let me take a moment to thank you for coming to look at my story, I hope you will find that it meets any expectations you might already have for it once you are done reading this prologue. Also, allow me apologize in advance for posting this story in such a way that the prologue is little more than a brief teaser to the story itself. I myself do not enjoy beginning a story that has such little substance to it at its start, but I do have my reasons for posting this way, so I might also hope that you will bear with me. 

This is my first work of fiction in the LOTR category, and I should like to inform my readers that while I am new to writing for the LOTR fandom I am not new to Tolkien's wonderful creation of Middle-Earth. I have been a fan of his writing since before the movie Fellowship of the Rings was created, and while I might at some point write a story in movie-verse (merely owing to the fact that the movie-verse gives me less restrictions when twisting the subject matter to my particular liking) it is not the only one that I know. When it is my intent to do so I will remain as loyal as possible to the Middle-Earth that all fans know and love. Please do pardon me if I make mistakes here and there, for I do not claim to be the most knowledgeable Tolkien scholar (especially when it comes to the languages of the inhabitants of Middle-Earth, the elven language in particular). 

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Story Overview: My own story of the coming of the Eldar Glorfindel of Gondolin to Imladris and the house of Elrond. I realize that many people debate over whether or not Glorfindel of Gondolin the balrog slayer and Glorfindel of Rivendell are the same character, but it is my belief that they are indeed one in the same and therefore it shall be so in my story. Apologies if this is not your particular view on the issue, and you might feel free email me at any time and debate it with me to your heart's content if you so choose, but be aware that it will most likely have no effect on this tale. 

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Warnings: Yes, I will have original characters in this story almost from its very start, and I assure you that it is not my intention to turn them into horrendous Mary Sue types. This is NOT in any way a self-insertion story; I see -- and have intentionally put -- nothing of myself into any of these original characters. 

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Pairings: Elrond/Glorfindel. Yes, you read that correctly. I am a fan of numerous slash and het pairings for LOTR. I respect each and every one of Tolkien's characters, and I in no way think that presenting them in such a way or situation as this one is defiling his work. Again, you may debate this with me until the cows come home, but on this I will not change my views. So, if you are not a fan of slash within Tolkien's work, or if you are but hold no respect for this particular pairing and find it offending, I might suggest that you turn back now. I would ask you to please not flame, for it is an incredibly childish action and does nothing to increase my opinion of you, only going to show me that you are an individual lacking in maturity. 

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Disclaimer: I am not under the impression that I own the rights to any of Tolkien's characters or settings, though I might secretly envy the literary genius of his work and long to take it for my own. It is not mine. This story is purely out of the depths of my own imagination and is not intended as an infringement of copyright and no profit is being made from it. The Lord of the Rings and all other Tolkien works are the soul property of the Tolkien Estate.

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*coughs politely to draw the reader's attention and smiles* Well now, all of that being said, I would encourage those of you still interested and remaining to enjoy this story. Thank you for your time and attention. 

Prologue:

The night was one of inky black darkness, in which the light of Ithil was lost, the stars of Varda appeared not, and even the glow of Eärendil was extinguished by the thick mass of clouds above. Rain poured down from the sky in heavy, unforgiving torrents of numbing cold water, and the waters of the realm of Ulmo churned themselves into a fury of frothing, white-capped waves. With the booming of thunder and flashes of lightning from overhead, the storm was indeed violent and terrible to behold; on this night Ossë was enraged. 

In the midst of the turmoil of the enormous rolling waves the smallest of ships was being buffeted back and forth by the crashing of the water and the tremendous strength of the wind. The vessel was a crudely constructed craft, built with the intent of being manned by merely a single individual on a calm, fair day. The weather, however, was anything but calm and fair, and it had taken its toll upon the pitiful little ship. 

The wood of the vessel creaked and groaned in vehement protest under the elemental assault it was receiving, and the helm of the ship had been splintered by one of the numerous waves that had broken upon its deck. The once full sail now hung limp and useless, torn to shreds by ravaging winds, and the main mast on which it hung was little more than half there as well.

To the remainder of the mast there also clung the ship's soul passenger, who had long ago given up his vain attempts and all hope of being able to steer the ship in any direction, for fear that he would lose his life if he did not remain where he was. His golden blonde hair was drenched with both rain and sea water, as were his clothes, and his hands grasped feebly at the rope which had at one time been part of his ship's rigging, but was now wound round the base of the thick wooden mast to give him something on which to keep a hold. His entire body ached and trembled with exhaustion from having to maintain his hold in order to keep himself from being washed over the side of the boat. All he desired and longed for was rest from his weariness.

He flung his head up to stare into the sky, squinting his eyes against the falling rain, his long hair plastered to his fair, wet face. "Elbereth!" he cried to the night. "Elbereth, spare me!" he begged, wept openly in exhausted desperation.

In his heart he knew that his prayer, his plea, would go unanswered. If the Valar had desired this to be a journey of ease for him, then it would have been so. The storm with which he struggled was their doing and theirs alone, a cruel reminder that his life was always in their hands. He could do little more than surrender himself to the fate that they had planned for him.

Even as his body went lax against the saturated wood of the ship deck beneath him a last great wave arose from the sea and swept his body overboard into the cold embrace of the waters below. The blonde being comprehended nothing more as his mind lapsed into blissful, dark unawareness.

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G A Mercy: ***looks up from her writing* **Yes the prologue was indeed brief, I did warn you, however. 

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Glorfindel: Yes, she did.

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G A Mercy: ***notices reader's confused stares*** Oh yes, this is my personal LOTR muse, Glorfindel, whom you all of course should know if you've become interested enough to read this story. If it has not yet become apparent to you, Glorfindel is my all time favorite Tolkien elf. Although, I also rather like Beleg Strongbow and Voronwë out of The Silmarillion and Unfinished Tales if anyone reading this has knowledge of Tolkien works beyond Lord of the Rings. No, when I began Lord of the Rings I was not an immediate, die-hard Legolas fan, a thousand gasps, yes, I know.

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Glorfindel: Mercy would be rather indebted to you if you would take the time to review the brief prologue which you have just finished reading. In case of confusion you should be able to locate and select the 'Submit Review' option in the bottom left hand corner of your fanfiction.net window right below the ending of this rant. Clicking on the small blue "Go" button should bring up a convenient review box, which will allow you to voice your comments and opinions on Mercy's story.

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G A Mercy: Yes, nice comments please, or CONSTRUCTIVE criticism, if you would. Of course, reviews containing lavish praise of the author's story are also warmly accepted and those particular reviewers doted upon above all others. ***winks teasingly* **

Glorfindel: ***shakes head despairingly***

G A Mercy: Seriously though, if anyone ever sees something that you take to be a mistake in my writing, please let me know and I'll see what can be done about changing it. I'm always looking for advice on improving my writing. This prologue was rather what I myself imagined Voronwë's sea journey (spoken of in Unfinished Tales) to be like, though Voronwë was not attempting to sail the sea on his own. 


	2. Chapter One

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*G A Mercy looks up from a pile of paper work on her desk* Welcome back to all of my readers! I have to say that I am beyond thrilled to have found that there are many other Elrond/Glorfindel supporters out there. I must admit, when I first saw the pairing I was rather opposed to it, simply because I just didn't see Elrond being in a romantic relationship with any character, but since then I've really come to love it. This story is an honest attempt of mine to get a little more support for this particular pairing, because while I've seen it as a side pairing in numerous stories I have yet to run across many stories where Elrond/Glorfindel is the actual focus pairing as it will be in mine. 

At this time I want to take a moment to recognize some of my reviewers and to thank them for their comments, which truly do mean a lot.

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Surreal: Isn't Glorfindel wonderful? He's a character that I've always been fascinated with, because there is only so much information one can find concerning him. Thank you for your comments; I'm pleased that you enjoyed my prologue, brief as it was. I hope that you'll like the rest of this story as well. As to borrowing Glorfindel, feel free; he should go wherever he is an inspiration. Thank you for your review!

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melissa greenleaf: I too am particularly fond of Elrond/Glorfindel fics, obviously or I wouldn't be writing this. Thank you for the tremendous compliment, by the way. As for a plot, we'll just have to wait and see how things progress, hm? I will most definitely continue with this story, and I hope this update is soon enough for you. And I assure you that I am not an author who updates based on review numbers; I write because that's what I love to do, not because I'm in the game for the ego stroking, so you will never see me delay a chapter because I don't have a set number of reviews. Thank you for your review! 

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tenshiamanda: I too am anxiously awaiting the beginning of this story, hopefully it will turn out to be something worthy; I have my fingers crossed. Again, I hope that this update is soon enough. Thank you for the kitties, by the way, they are adorable and I'll make certain to keep them away from valuables. ***winks*** Thank you for your review!

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…: Thank you for saying so! I can't wait to find out what happens either! (**Glorfindel**: Mercy! Don't tell them that! You're supposed to make the readers think you have a plan. A _plan_! **G A Mercy**: …But that would be lying. **Glorfindel**: Not lying exactly, just not telling the whole truth. **G A Mercy**: … **Glorfindel**: ***sighs*** Nevermind.) Thank you for your review!

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Karaoke Superstar: I think that's the first time I have ever been insulted for sounding _intelligent_, Wil. Well, you are entitled to tease, I suppose; you're probably one of the few people who can do so and actually get away with it. ***winks*** And a large vocabulary comes in handy in this line of work you know, as long as I don't try to spell phonetically like some. ***grins in a devilish, unrepentant manner*** Thank you for your review! 

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Lizlego: I'm pleased that you are excited, and isn't the length completely frustrating? However, it made such a wonderful beginning scene in my mind, and it was either leave it at that length or cut it out of the tale completely, and I simply didn't have the heart to let it go. Thank you for your review!

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*smiles* Well, now that my author shout outs are through, I suppose that it is as good a time as any to present to you patient readers the first chapter in the tale of the coming of Glorfindel to Imladris (though it might take a few chapters before he actually reaches it). 

Chapter One

Sérmela walked slowly along the rocky costal path, holding the reins of the small baggage pony at her side laxly in her hand. A crisp sea breeze stirred through her the locks of her long dark hair, and the little pony snorted softly and tossed his head as it swept across him as well. Sérmela patted his side absently, reaching out to run her free hand lightly over his velvet muzzle as she turned her head to gaze thoughtfully at the sea that lay stretched out for miles to her right. 

Gentle ocean waves were lapping peacefully at the sandy shore of the beach below her, and gulls wheeled and cried overhead. The scene was lulling and relaxing. The ocean had been since the first dawn of Arda, and long before the arrival of the Quendi. It was over these same ancient waters that the Noldor had traveled in their exile, and somewhere over the wide expanse of shimmering blue lay the land of Valinor. 

Sérmela wondered if the passing of a convoy of elves was even noted by the greater powers that controlled the sea and its breeze. For her the thought of Valinor yet held little wonder; she was young still and the rippling, roaring falls of Imladris had more love in her heart. She tried to imagine how any elf could willingly sail from Middle-Earth, especially in such a beautiful time. 

Her eyes still scanned the shore below her, as if scouring the land to find an answer to all of her inner puzzlements, and a confusing anxiety was beginning to build inside of her as the elves that walked ahead of her planned to soon leave the ocean path and head overland back home to Imladris. She could not go; there was something that she had yet to find. 

Suddenly she stopped and let out a startled cry, her eyes fixed in horror on a still form in the sand. Behind her, and ahead of her as well, the other members of the convoy halted at her dismayed exclamation and wondered what it was that had caused her to cease in her walking.

The pony beside her nickered in distress, but Sérmela paid him little heed as she dropped his reins and raced for the head of the line, ignoring all of the elves that stared at her in amazement. "Ada, Ada stop!" she cried frantically.

Her father, whom was seated on the only horse in the company, looked down upon her in concern as she halted before him, while the elves around him looked on in confusion. "What is it, daughter?" he asked.

"Ada, there is a body back there!" Sérmela gasped.

Narmondor's face grew grave at her news. "A body?" he questioned sharply. "Are you certain of this, Sérmela?" 

"Yes, Ada, I saw it, back there on the beach," she panted her affirmation softly.

Narmondor swung easily down off his horse. "Show me," he commanded her. Two elves who had walked at his side came forward as well and Narmondor nodded at them concedingly; one of them, Erlómiel, possessed some small healing knowledge, more than any of them in the company. "The rest of you will remain where you are," he ordered the other elves who were shifting uneasily on their feet.

With a sharp gesture to Sérmela he gave her leave to lead them.

Sérmela began to retrace her steps towards the pack pony, which now seemed miles away with the anxiety building in the pit of her stomach with every second being wasted. She wished that her father would quicken his pace, but Narmondor walked always with a calm, dignified grace and would not be hurried. He insisted that overreacting to any situation would only cause unnecessary panic, and that it was the duty of a leader to maintain order always within his group. Her father often called her hasty for making her swift decisions, chiding her for not thoroughly thinking things through before acting. 

When she finally reached the pony she had been leading Sérmela pointed down to the beach to a spot where the sea waves lapped at a dark form sprawled on the sand.

"Down there, Ada," she whispered. 

Her elders stood and gazed for a moment to the spot where she pointed, and her father's second companion, Moroco, shook his head. "It is merely sea trash," he stated, "tossed up by the waves, in the wake of last night's storm no doubt. What good would our stopping to investigate do?"

Sérmela's eyes widened in horror as she heard Moroco's callous and unfeeling words, shocked that he could be so cold. "No!" she burst out, and swallowed when three pairs of eyes were trained on her. "We can't just…walk away," she continued. "What if that were one of our kin down there? And – and even if the person wasn't -- " Sérmela broke off her words, unable to continue.

Narmondor continued to face the ocean and look down upon the beach; his own expression and feelings on the matter guarded until Erlómiel touched his arm hesitantly, drawing his attention to her. "Your daughter's heart is right," she told him meekly. "It would be a dishonorable death for any race; we should do something."

"I should ignore this matter and return to our path, the light of Arien dims and I would have us be far from these shores when Ithil rises," he spoke softly, as though to himself, and Sérmela held her breath while awaiting his decision, for she knew at the moment that he was merely pondering the situation. Narmondor spared her a brief glance. "But we will go and see what we shall," he agreed.

"Thank you, Ada," Sérmela said in relief, and she smiled gratefully at Erlómiel for speaking for her.

She followed quickly behind the elder elves as they began to pick a careful path down the rocky beach turf, and Sérmela found that her heart was pounding in her ears, so afraid was she of what they might find. When the four elves reached the still, limp figure Sérmela knelt with her father and Erlómiel beside it, while Moroco remained standing. 

Erlómiel reached out a hand and turned the person over onto his back, for the figure was quite obviously a male. Sérmela could tell from one quick glance at his delicately pointed ears that he was indeed an elf as they were. His fair skin was pale with a faintly bluish tone that was anything but natural, his long golden hair lay tangled and matted, and his clothing torn to mere shreds with every inch of him covered in sand. The thing that saddened Sérmela the most about his appearance, however, was the fact that his eyes were closed to them, and not merely in the elven state of rest. She bowed her head in grief, but looked back up when Erlómiel grasped her hand.

"No, Sérmela, his is yet alive," Erlómiel told her firmly. "See how his chest rises ever so slightly?"

"Alive?" Moroco questioned in shock.

Sérmela could understand his surprise, because she felt it as well, though hers was a mixture of relief as well. How could an elf in his condition possibly be alive?

"See the debris on this beach," Erlómiel pointed out to them, and for the first time Sérmela took notice of the driftwood that lay scattered all about them. "He must have been sailing on the ocean and got caught in last night's storm. The waves have carried him here."

"If that is the case, then we should leave," Moroco advised. "Surely this one is cursed by the Valar, we should have nothing to do with him."

"You cannot do that," Sérmela protested. "He is blessed by the Valar to live yet after all that he has been through. We would be murderers if we left him now!"

She and Erlómiel stared pleadingly at Narmondor who looked back at them with equally serious and considering eyes. "I take it that you agree with this murder accusation?" he addressed Erlómiel.

"If I could do anything for this elf with what little skills I possess I should feel compelled to remain at his side," Erlómiel answered Narmondor honestly, keeping her clear blue eyes trained on his own steel gray orbs to let him understand how serious she was.

Narmondor turned his head away into the breeze and closed his eyes, his face set in a thoughtful expression. "I have no time to spare an injured elf in my caravan," he stated slowly. "I wish us to be home to Imladris as soon as we may be."

Sérmela bit her lip in agitation; she knew well her father's habit of making good time without having to rush to accomplish it, having accompanied him on several similar journeys. If he thought this elf would slow him down he would refuse to take him aboard. Already he appeared hesitant, and Sérmela knew that it was she who must act quickly to take this burden upon herself.

"I would look after him, Ada, he should be no delay. He might ride upon our baggage pony and I would take some of the little beast's burden to carry on my own shoulders so that it is possible," Sérmela said.

"What does this elf mean to you that you would do such a thing, daughter?" Narmondor questioned her sternly.

"I do not know, Ada," she admitted hesitantly, "but he was beautiful, don't you think? And he will be beautiful again once he is well. He looks to have the grace and light of the Eldar in him and I too feel compelled to care for him."

Her father sighed deeply, obviously troubled. "I had meant to leave the pony with a Breelander if I could; we have little use for such a beast in Imladris. With him gone we could make it to the ford of the Bruinen by the Great East Road in four days time."

"It may be that this stranger would recover by the time we reach Bree, Ada," Sérmela pressured lightly. "Maybe even by the time we reach the land of the Shire, and if he did we could leave the pony there instead and not have to deal with the Bree folk at all." She knew of her father's aversion to humans, and she worked on persuading him by speaking of such a plan, as he considered it she played her last card. 

"Please, have mercy on him as though he were a son of yours," she said.

Narmondor sighed once again, though not as heavily as before. "Very well," he agreed finally, his reluctance clear. "We will take this stranger into our number and stop for the night so that he may be tended to here before we attempt to move on. If, however, he does not awaken with the rising of Arien I will have to think on this once again." 

Sérmela reached out and tenderly brushed a lock of blonde hair from her elf's face – that was how she was beginning to think of him in her mind, as her elf. She was sure that the Valar had entrusted him to her, at least for a time. "Thank you, Ada," she whispered a second time.

"I will pray to Elbereth that this stranger will not be our doom," Moroco said darkly.

"Nay, look at him Moroco," Erlómiel instructed the suspicious elf. "How could he be?"

Indeed, Sérmela agreed as she gazed down upon his form, how could he be? 

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G A Mercy: Ah, this chapter is the one where things got tricky. I have introduced several original characters, though I don't know if more than two of them will play a major role in the chapters to come. Séremela, I think, will be here for the duration of the tale, though I don't want readers to mistake me and think that my story is focusing on her; it's not. The focus of this story is Glorfindel. Narmondor is also going to be mentioned, though I don't know if I'm going to take as many pains in building his character, as I will be doing with Séremela, we'll just have to wait and see how it progresses. 

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Glorfindel: Erlómiel at the moment is a mystery, as is Moroco. 

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G A Mercy: I had to make up these elvish names on my own, and I'm not quite sure whether or not I have managed to produced proper Quenya names, I apologize to any who think that I've completely butchered them. In Quenya their meanings are: Moroco – "bear", Narmondor – "wolf", Erlómiel – "(female) alone in the night" (hopefully that's what it means, at any rate), and as for Séremela I have no idea whatsoever, as I got her name randomly out of an elvish name generator.

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Glorfindel: Remember, Mercy is not particularly knowledgeable in the elvish language, so most likely more than half the time she won't even be able to tell you whether it's Quenya or Sindarin that she is using. 

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G A Mercy: As for the locations I have little information on when the city of Bree was founded, or what dealings the elves of Imladris had with the Shire before Bilbo's coming. I am using a lot of guesswork in this story. I am going to assume that Bree is still a relatively small settlement at the time of this story. As for the actual time period, at the moment I'm estimating it to be around the year 1601 of the Third Age, a little after the Istari first came to Middle Earth and the Hobbits began occupying lands north of the Brandúin (Brandywine) River; this is a good 800 years before the ring comes into the possession of Gollum, and a good 1400 years before the Fellowship is formed to destroy it. On another note, I do not know if elves would travel the Great East Road openly or not, but as it is a tentative time of peace I am going to assume that they will use it instead of tramping about in the wilds as Aragorn and the hobbits did on their journey from Bree to Rivendell. 

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Glorfindel: And in regards to the time it would take to travel from the Grey Havens and the coastline to Imladris…Mercy has no clue what she's doing, so she will probably end up making the journey either too long or too short.

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G A Mercy: Again, my apologies, but Tolkien knew what he was doing with his stories a little better than I do.

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Glorfindel: Mercy hopes that her readers have enjoyed this first chapter as much as they have the prologue piece, and that you will continue to review and offer any comments or suggestions that you might have. 


	3. Chapter Two

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G A Mercy: I am pleased to announce the third installment of this smallest of stories. I originally had it finished and ready to post much sooner than this, but looking back on it I decided that it needed a good deal of revamping. ***smiles guiltily*** My apologies for taking so long, but I realized that I actually wanted to go about writing this story in a different manner. 

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tenshiamanda: Glorifindel is incredibly lucky, isn't he? I mean, I could have killed him off in that storm…only then I would not have much of a story, now would I? ***grins and winks*** (**Glorfindel**: ***mutters something about being certain that Mercy still has plenty of torture in store for him to self***) Thank you for your review!

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…: ***smiles* **Well, I'm certainly glad that you are enjoying my story, and I'm working hard to produce more as often as possible, schoolwork allowing. Thank you for your review! 

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Surreal: It is definitely gratifying to hear that my OC's are well liked, I am trying not to let them steal the story spotlight and the task is becoming rather difficult as I continue in my efforts to develop their personalities. As to slash in my story, I have no idea what Tolkien would think about seeing some of the slash pairings out there, but I am certainly willing to admit that he most probably was not looking at Frodo and Sam's relationship the way that some of us are. ***grins*** And I also believe that I can safely say that he was not thinking about the possibility of Elrond/Glorfindel either, as there aren't even any direct dialogue scenes between my two beloved characters (someone correct me if I am mistaken). I'm pleased that you like my story thus far, and I continue to hope that it will gain enough of a plot to satisfy everyone. Thank you for your review!

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Isys: Can you believe that Peter Jackson had the nerve to not use my beloved Glorfindel in FotR AND give Arwen his horse? Why should Arwen get to ride Asfaloth? I do not dislike her character, but when it comes to the novels I find her quite useless, and in the movies quite weak. I am pleased you have enjoyed my story thus far, hopefully I will not disappoint with future chapter. And yes, I have managed to struggle my way through The Silmarillion, as well as Unfinished Tales (which adds a little more detail to several of The Silmarilliontales). Narmondor is rather similar to Elrond, isn't he? ***blinks*** How odd that he turned out that way, I'm not sure if it was intentional or not. And Moroco does come off as a trifle suspicious and untrustworthy, I wonder if I'll ever know exactly why he seems like such a dark character. ***smiles*** Thank you for your review!

Chapter Two

Séremela hummed softly to herself deep in her throat as she bent forward to feed another branch to the flickering fire before her, leaning back again as she watched the red flames flare up with a renewed vitality. She glanced about her casually, noting that the campfires of the other elves of her company had at that time dwindled into mere smoldering piles of charred wood. She must have been the only elf who was still awake with Ithil so high in the bright night sky. 

As she reclined slightly back upon the cool rock boulder against which she was resting, her eyes sought out Eärendil and the familiar star patterns at which she had gazed up at so many times before. The stars of Varda had always been a comfort to her during her troubled or thoughtful periods; her father had shown them to her when she was a very young elfling, pointing them out one by one and whispering their great names to her in the dark of the night. She had never forgotten them.

Then her thoughts were pulled from the starry sky as her acute elven hearing informed her of a small movement. Her pointed ears pricked forward, listening carefully as her sharp eyes scanned their campsite for the source of the sound. She had great faith in the abilities of the elven sentries that had been appointed by her father as their night time guards, both were well seasoned warriors still in their prime, but even great warriors could make mistakes that would cost the lives of many. It was possible that there was an enemy nearby that none of them had yet heard, and Séremela must be the one to alert the camp if that were so. 

Yet after straining her hearing toward the nearby woods she could detect no sign of an enemy ambush, naught but the gentle rustle of the forest leaves in a light breeze. Or might it not be the advancement of some unknown enemy that had made the sound she had heard, but the stirring of one within their own camp instead?

She allowed her gaze to be pulled to a slight figure lying wrapped in several blankets as close as possible to the campfire. Her elf, Séremela sighed. She had been waiting for him to open his eyes for so long; many were beginning to wonder if the strange elf would ever wake, as it had been the better part of three days since Séremela's discovery of him. Though Erlómiel had insisted that they should not abandon hope, privately she warned Séremela that his prolonged period of sleep could still mean that his soul, which fought against the pull of Mandos, might never be successful in escaping. 

Narmondor had not been pleased when presented with the situation, but after much pleading on the part of his daughter and the healer he had allowed that a crude litter be constructed for the injured elf that their pack pony might pull him by. Séremela had walked at his side like as an ever-faithful guard to his person. 

Erlómiel and Séremela together tended to the strange elf as best they could, cooling his fevered brow with damp rags when his skin became hot to the touch and doing everything possible to warm his body, though the night was merely pleasantly cool and elves do not feel the elemental assault of weather under normal circumstances; Séremela began to despair of his recovery, for elves to her knowledge seldom if ever took ill. On this night Séremela had agreed to sit up and tend the campfire, and to care for the elf should he awaken in the night; she and Erlómiel had been taking turns doing so for the last several days. And it seemed that he was waking.

Séremela rose from her spot and moved swiftly and silently to kneel by his side, placing her hand gently upon his shoulder in a gesture of comfort. She could feel his body trembling beneath her touch, and was completely unprepared when the elf opened his shocking azure colored eyes and stared up at her, with fear and confusion prominent in his gaze. It took a moment for Séremela to speak, so lost was she in the depths of his ice, which seemed to speak of a being as ancient as Arda itself; only in the presence of Lord Elrond and some of the higher elves of his house had Séremela felt such a great age.

"Relax, _mellon-nîn_, you are quite safe here," she soothed softly, trying not to wake the remainder of her camp, for her father would be most displeased if she did.

Still the blue eyes were panicked. "Where –?" A voice, scratch with disuse, and yet holding a gentle, musical quality asked her. The blonde elf twisted and made as though to sit up, but Séremela pressed him firmly back down. 

"Safe," she repeated, to be certain that he understood her. "You are with a company of elves traveling back to our home in Imladris."

"Im-ladris?" he questioned the confusion mounting in his gaze. He pronounced the name slowly, drawing out its sound on his tongue as though tasting it curiously.

"'Tis the house of Lord Elrond Half-Elven. Surely you have heard of it?" Séremela replied casually.

The elf frowned and shook his golden head slowly, and Séremela, catching the bemused look on his face, smiled reassuringly. "Never mind such things now," she instructed gently. "You have obviously gone through quite a trial to end up on these shores in such a state."

"Have I?" the elf spoke distantly now, as though he were only half hearing her words.

"Indeed," she agreed lightly. "For we discovered your body washed up upon the beach and at first thought that you were dead and your soul departed to the Halls of Mandos." The strange elf shuddered violently at her words and she looked him over in concern. 

"Are you cold, _mellon-nîn_?" she asked. "Erlómiel, our healer, feared that might be the case, with your having been through such a horrible storm and coming out of it soaked to the bone. We did our best to clean you up when we found you, for you were absolutely covered in sand. New clothes shall be found for you in the morning, and we might do a little more to fix your appearance.

Through her small speech the strange elf said nothing, merely nodding his head absently, Séremela guessed that his thoughts were many miles away from her, but she continued on regardless. "You were out on the sea in a ship, mellon-nîn, were you not? There were ship debris scattered all around you, though that is all that we have guessed of you. Are you one of Círdan's people of the Grey Havens?" she questioned curiously.

"Círdan…" the elf murmured. "A name…familiar…"

Séremela began to grow alarmed as she noted his misery and panic rise. She began to suspect that there was something very wrong with him that she was yet unaware of, and resolved to find out what it was. "What is your name, _mellon-nîn_?" she asked steadily, partially to calm him and partially to calm herself. "Mine is Séremela, daughter of Narmondor."

"Name?" the elf repeated, lifting his head, and Séremela almost gasped upon looking at his vacant expression. "Do not know -- " he began to tremble. 

Séremela's heart sank into her stomach in despair. She had heard of cases of this occurring occasionally, an illness of the mind where one forgot all or many of the things one had once known. Sometimes it left an elf as helpless as a newborn child, though they might be far beyond their majority. Her poor elf could not remember his name? His home? 

She reached out to him and stroked his golden hair comfortingly. "Despair not, _mellon-nîn_," she told him in a whisper. "I shall take care of you now, and you shall be as a little brother to me, though I am quite certain that you are many thousands of years older than I. But be not afraid."

Slowly her elf relaxed into her touch and Séremela's heart was moved with pity for him. "So, what should your name be, hmm?" she purred soothingly, not wishing to alarm him any farther, but needing something to call him by. "Essëlaundur, perhaps? How's that, _gwador_?" She continued to stroke his long hair and murmur sweet but calming words of nonsense into his ear.

"Essëlaundur it shall be then," she decided when he said nothing in response, assuming that he did not mind. "I shall not allow anything bad to happen to you again, I promise. You shall come to Imladris with me, Ada cannot deny you this, and you might stay as long as you wish with us. As long as it takes you to recover your memories. And if that does not happen and you wish never to leave then you shall always have a home with me."

"Home," Essëlaundur mumbled, his eyes beginning to glaze over in the elven version of rest.

"That's right, home," she agreed fiercely. 

"No…home anymore," he slurred his words slightly. "Gone."

"Hush, you should rest now, _gwador_. Rest," Séremela commanded.

"_Muinthel_…Sermë, thank you," he breathed softly before finally surrendering to sleep.

Séremela released him from her warm embrace and drew back to gaze upon his now peacefully slumbering form and tears came unbidden to her eyes. "_Muinthel_," she repeated in wonder, feeling at once honored and confused. Would Essëlaundur regret calling her as such in the morning, if he even remembered? How could he have such trust in her when he had spoken with her hardly at all?

"I think that you will recover yet, Essëlaundur," she whispered to him. "You have lived, so you must have great strength in you. I feel that the Valar have sent you to me so that I might protect you whilst you regain your memories." 

She smiled. "Rest well."

Brief Notes: 

1.Essëlaundur is another Quenya name that I have put together that, hopefully, means "no name". A bit cruel of Séremela to call him such, but I assure you it will be remedied later, though not, I think, by her. *smiles knowingly*

2. Mellon-nîn is probably a familiar elvish word for any LotR reader, but for those anyone who might be confused it means "friend". 

3.The Sindarin word gwador might also be familiar, and it's meaning is very close to brother, but actually more of a "sworn brother" or "[male] aquaintance". 

4.Muinthel is elvish for "sister", which I think (as always, feel free to correct me if I'm wrong) is used more often by blood relations, and I used it here to show how Essëlaundur [Glorfindel] takes Séremela's words to heart and her promise that she'll watch over him as a brother. At least, that was what I was aiming for…

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G A Mercy: ***is frowning and scratching out sentences on her paper*** Drat, this is not turning out quite the way I would like it to, you know. ***begins marking up her paper thoroughly unsatisfied*** I didn't like this chapter at all, and I don't know that I'm going to like many until I finally get Glorfindel to Imladris. 

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Glorfindel: ***appears to be a bit distracted himself* **Mercy, could you not – a little assistance, please?

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G A Mercy: What could you possibly doing that is more important than what I am attempting, mellon? ***grimaces and continues to ignore Glorfindel***

Glorfindel: Mercy! Your kittens are wrecking havoc on your office furnishings. ***attempts to control Elrond and Glorfie kitties courtesy of tenshiamanda the LotR kitty keeper*** Mercy!

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Mercy: ***blinks*** …What?!

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*loud ripping noise is heard*

Glorfindel: ***sighs in defeat*** Never mind. It is too late; your curtains have been thoroughly demolished. 

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Mercy: ***looks quite unconcerned* **That is the least of my problems at the moment, mellon. This is an imaginary office, imagine up new curtains if you so desire. And while you are at it, conjure me a little more inspiration, this story needs to move a little faster. 

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Glorfindel: ***raises eyebrow*** Oh, of course. Right away, arwenamin [my Lady]** mutters unpleasantly about overbearing authoresses* **

Mercy: If it were not too much trouble, would you leave a review before you leave? I apologize for the wait between updates, but life has a tendency of interfering at times and as I near the end of another school year I find myself positively loaded down with work. 

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Glorfindel: Yes, a review or two would be refreshing. Namárie. Tenn' enomentielva. [Goodbye. Until we meet again]


	4. Chapter Three

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*G A Mercy enters office with an armful of papers, which she quickly deposits upon her desk as she looks guiltily at her readers* Gracious, I simply cannot believe that I have been this long without updating my story! A little over two months…! ***shakes head slowly*** Apologies for having taken so long, I have gotten very caught up in all the work I have on my plate at the moment. There is far too much for me to be worrying about, summer though it is. Exams ended and then I took up a full time summer job as well as a summer internship and things have gotten a little hectic on my end. 

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Surreal: Fabulous! Feel free to ask questions at any time, I love them! Lots and lots of questions; they truly help me in developing my stories. In attempting to answer your questions I am first going to begin by saying, no, this story is not completely AU. Or at least, it is as far from AU as I can possibly make it with whatever little talent I might somehow unwittingly posses. ^^ I have to thank you though, when I looked at your question about Celebrían I realized that my own story timeline was off. Celebrían is mentioned in my story as being the wife of Elrond and having born him the twins and Arwen Undomíel. Glorfindel has returned to Middle Earth around the year 2520 of the Third Age, I think would be a good date to put him at; Celebrían departed Middle Earth in the year 2510 of the Third Age. So they've just barely missed each other, you see. Allowing a smooth relationship to bloom between Glorfindel and Elrond, how convenient, don't you think? Christopher Tolkien did once make the comment that his illustrious father, once he had decided Glorfindel of Gondolin and Glorfindel of Imladris to be the same dashing elf, suggested that Glorfindel returned to Middle Earth late in the Second Age of the world, instead of in the Third Age as I have put him. That's why many people seem to believe that Glorfindel was at the Last Alliance Battle, I however have found no mention of his name there, so I am going to conveniently ignore Christopher Tolkien's suggestion and press on in my own manner. As to Séremela's comment, well, Erlómiel is actually my healer in this story. Séremela really doesn't have much of a concept of illness because she's more of a house servant of Elrond's, I believe; I'm not quite sure what she does yet. Hopefully I've answered your questions clearly, let me know if I've only made things worse. Thank you for your review!

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tenshiamanda: I quite agree, poor Glorfindel. I hate to be so cruel, but it's all for a very good reason…because I said so, of course. ***winks*** And believe me, I am truly grateful that I am not the keeper of all of the LotR kitties I'm sure it's quite a task. ***grins*** Thank you for your review!

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melissa greenleaf: Perhaps Séremela simply is not gifted in the bestowing of names? She strikes me as being a trifle oblivious to feelings at times, but she is young, I believe she will overcome this obliviousness. I apologize for making you wait so very long for this chapter, the delay was by no means intentional. Thank you for your review!

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Songelf88 and G.H.S the warg: Many thanks; it is gratifying to know that at least one person is checking up on me from time to time. Promise to let me know when that dictionary of yours informs you that I've made a hideous mistake in my elvish? ***winks*** Thank you for your review! 

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Tidmag: Have I the pleasure of speaking with a fellow GW fan?** *smiles* **How lovely. Trowa always was my favorite character; I found him quite fascinating. And I'll admit that his Japanese "name" of Nanashi gave me the idea for Essëlaundur. I was pleased to see that a name meaning "no name" could be constructed in Elvish as well as it could be in Japanese. As for getting Essëlaundur to Imladris, I am working on it, however, it will take several more chapters even after this one, I'm afraid. Not that I want the traveling to drag on forever, but there are several important details that I have to fit in before Glorfindel arrives in the House of Elrond. Believe me when I say that it tries my patience as well, I desperately wish to get on with the romantic development. ***winks*** Unfortunately it can't be rushed if I ever want Essëlaundur's memories to return. I'm doing my best to plant subtle clues for my OC's throughout these chapters. Thank you for your review! 

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Karaoke Superstar: Wil, darling, what can I say aside from thank you? (**Glorfindel:** ***muffled in the background*** I can think of something to say. Do not compliment Mercy like that or her ego will surely reach enormous proportions! **Mercy: *smiles sweetly*** You can simply ignore the muse for the moment.) I can assure you I'm far from Shakespeare, however. Do not let Duo razz on you. The trick to dealing with these muses is to appear competent and threatening, even when you aren't, otherwise they will walk all over you (as some of us well know)! ***winks*** And as for cat sitting…***grins*** Thank you for your review!

Chapter Three

When he woke next it was to see a different dark-haired elf maiden seated near him, this female was quite obviously older than his Sermë. As his eyes met hers Essëlaundur blinked not once while holding her gaze for several unnerving minutes, almost afraid that if he did she would find him to be untrustworthy. For this elf appeared to be studying him fairly intently as though she was trying to decide what to make of him. So he remained tense for a moment, unable or unwilling to break her sapphire bright stare, but allowed himself to relax as her mouth curved up into a delicate smile.

"Good morning to you, lucky traveler," she greeted him softly, but with an apparent warmth accompanying her words.

"G-good m-m-morn-ing," Essëlaundur returned her greeting uncertainly, mentally wincing at the sound of his voice. He knew that his speech was not as it usually was, though he could not quite say how it was that he knew this, but the stammer and the difficulty he discovered he had forming words was not natural to him. Essëlaundur was appalled and horrified to find that he could barely speak to this female. 

If his stammer surprised her, however, the she elf gave no outward indication of it; regarding him just as sweetly as she had before he had spoken. Essëlaundur continued to look at her, but he turned part of his attention to his surroundings.

He was quite clearly in a camp full of elves, and he vaguely recalled the young elf maiden, Sermë, telling him that he had been taken in by a group of traveling elves. The sky above them was lightening slowly with the approaching dawn and there was much moving about of the company; elves talking amongst each other, eating their morning meal, making whatever various preparations were required to break camp in a short time. He could just catch their movements out of the corner of his eye, for his bedroll and position seemed to be situated slightly outside of the closer knit circle, for he was a stranger. 

Turning his head away from the new elf near him he searched for a sign of Sermë, the younger maiden with whom he had spoken in the night. 

The elf with him at the moment apparently realized what was going through his mind and spoke up once more. "Captain Narmondor, our company leader, intends to start out soon. It was his daughter, Séremela, who was with you in the night, and I believe that she is with him now," she informed him. "Séremela will return shortly, I am sure. My name is Erlómiel, and I have also been watching over you with Séremela; I am a healer of the House of Elrond who travels with the company."

"Erlómiel," Essëlaundur repeated slowly, trying to put her face and name to memory.

"I live with the Captain, and am, I believe, close in his council, so if you are indeed to continue on to Imladris with us you shall most probably see a good deal of me. I should think you will, at least, for you are not yet fully healed, and I would like to keep a close eye on your condition; you were not far from the Halls of Mandos when we found you washed up upon the beach."

Essëlaundur shuddered at her words, though they were gentle and considerate. She spoke the plain truth, he could see, and he thought that she must usually do so. Erlómiel's softness might dull any painful news, but it seemed that she would always speak it honestly and not sacrificing truth for feelings in important situations.

"Séremela has told me that you are Essëlaundur," she continued. "Not the kindliest of names to have been given, but the child is quite positive that you will not carry it for too long."

Essëlaundur blinked and remained silent as Erlómiel surveyed him thoughtfully. "She seems very confident about your ability to recover, though she knows you not at all; yes, she has told me also of your inability to remember anything of your past," Erlómiel stated. "I feel, however, that her confidence will be true in the end; her feelings quite often are, though this you would not know."

Again Essëlaundur remained awkwardly silent. He was not quite on edge but also not quite at ease in Erlómiel's presence. The healer, however, appeared to at least be making an effort to make him comfortable with her. She at least endeavored to keep the conversation between them alive, though Essëlaundur thought privately that she did not seem the type to be used to long discussions and was perhaps more inclined to silence herself.

As she spoke of his memories, or in this case the lack there of, Essëlaundur was once again aware of a painful void inside of him. He felt that he knew both many great joys and great sorrows, yet he could remember neither a single instance of grief, or elation. He was empty, bereft of anything that would make him an individual. He knew no parents, no home, and no name of his own. His misery must have shown quite plainly on his face, for Erlómiel's eyes positively radiated her sympathy.

"I realize that it might be painful for you to speak of it," she said her lilting voice becoming rather soothing to him, "but I would discuss this with you with your permission."

Essëlaundur hesitated but nodded slowly, realizing that he would have to speak of such things sooner or later, and it might as well be with Erlómiel who was kind and sympathetic to his feelings. 

"You truly remember…nothing?" Erlómiel questioned tentatively, speaking her question slowly as though mentally sending out emotional feelers to detect whether Essëlaundur was honestly in earnest about discussing his state of illness, so that she could pull back quickly if he became disturbed or distraught by the topic. "Not a single thing has returned to you since you first awoke? You know no city as home? No family?"

Essëlaundur shook his head sadly. "N-n-noth-ing," he agreed.

"And you would not know what you might have been doing sailing upon the seas perhaps?" Erlómiel inquired. "For we believe that you were washed up from the wreckage of a ship in a storm some days ago."

Again Essëlaundur was forced to shake his head helplessly. He could not imagine what he would have been doing in a ship upon the ocean. As far as he knew he had never before sailed in a ship, of course, as far as he knew he might have been a Mariner and simply could not recall through the blank in his mind. 

Erlómiel's sigh was so soft that it was nearly undetectable and might have been mistaken for a simple light exhalation were it not for the situation. "Never mind, mellon nîn," she smiled slightly in an attempted encouraging manner. "You need not remember now."

She paused, as if debating whether she truly wanted to say what was on her mind, but pressed forward with a startlingly keen resolve; she endeavored to be a healer, she had a duty to be honest with this elf.

"I rarely treat anything other than small physical wounds, those which are inflicted upon the living body," she admitted. "I know nothing of the depths of the mind. I was placed within Narmondor's house as a healer for his son not because it was thought that I could mend his broken will to live, but because he might have taken some comfort from my presence as a healer."

Essëlaundur's brow furrowed and she looked upon him sadly. "I know it makes little sense to you what I have said, knowing nothing of Narmondor or the troubles of his family. My point, Essëlaundur, was that I cannot heal your mind; I have no such power. I have barely even heard of this illness of yours, let alone know it through any small amount of study. What I have heard might be of some consolation, or it might be of none."

"An individual's memory might return to him after a period of perhaps a week, or a month, or it could even take many years. At times it is said to be returned in pieces, which must be carefully stored and accumulated to possess a full memory once again, and at times it is returned instantly, completely intact without so much as a single hole or lost detail. And sometimes…" here her voice wavered, but once again astounded Essëlaundur with the strength of her single-minded determination. "And sometimes it is never returned."

"N-n-never?" Essëlaundur repeated in despair. To think that he might never know who he truly was. Would he forever be nameless? 

"I am sorry that I can guarantee you nothing, mellon nîn," Erlómiel murmured mournfully, her eyes averted. Then she suddenly looked up, the sapphires of her iris burning with a brilliant passion. "But please, listen to me when I tell you to take hope in the future, one never knows what events it might bring. Even if you should not remember who you were there is a chance for you to be again. If fate would have it you might rebuild yourself to be exactly the same without even realizing it. You have a chance now to be whoever you want to be if you were unhappy with yourself in the past."

Essëlaundur's brow was furrowed as he regarded her thoughtfully. He felt that for an elf like Erlómiel who was young yet, such a loss might not be as devastating, but it seemed that he had a gap spanning many thousands of years. Yet, if he had been unhappy, here was a chance. Erlómiel knew what this meant and he would think on it very carefully indeed.

"Some of us, when we are in misery with ourselves, are forced to rebuild our lives the hard way," Erlómiel whispered as if in regret. "We have not the luxury of being blissfully unaware of what we were, or our disgraceful actions. You, Essëlaundur, you have that luxury."

Essëlaundur was certain that Erlómiel meant not to imply that he had been disgraceful in his unknown past, for she knew him not. He felt, more than knew, that she was talking from long experience with such matters, though he had trouble understanding what an elven lady so gentle and beautiful as Erlómiel ever had done to be regretful for.

"Or, if you would rather," Erlómiel continued hesitantly, "there are some who might posses the ability to heal your mind. The Lord Elrond, it is said, can often see briefly into the minds of others. He was one of the greatest healers some years ago. His skills of late, however, are not at the level they once were, for they have not been practiced for some time."

Essëlaundur heard Erlómiel's words, but understood also what she was not saying. These individuals who might possess the skills could be willing to help him, but they would also want to study him. They would want to understand all that they could about his condition, and it would be a long road to recovery for him, for they would want to perfect their knowledge of the supposed illness before they surrendered a willing test subject. 

He frowned and thought that he would not, no matter what, allow some healer to rifle through his personal thoughts and life like he was an open book. In that moment Essëlaundur was, for the most part, determined to keep all of his suspicions to himself. Let others suppose what they desired, but his past was his and his alone until the time that he willingly chose to share it with another. 

Something of his inner thoughts must have shown in his eyes, for Erlómiel relaxed visibly, though Essëlaundur could not remember at what point she had become so tense. "I will not attempt to sway you to any path," she told him. "Make your own decisions as you will."

"If Séremela has her way, you will come to Imladris with us, and perhaps come to call it home," Erlómiel murmured. "Imladris is a fine place to live when one is seeking to rebuild a shattered life; it is very restful and your heart will forever be at peace there."

Essëlaundur was truly grateful for Sermë, without her he knew not what he would do, or to whom he would turn in his desperation. Sermë and Erlómiel had saved his life and kept his fëa from the cold, forbidding halls of Mandos. Though, as he thought on it, Essëlaundur felt an odd pang of regret that he had not been released through death. The regret shook his confidence and he wondered briefly if he might have been miserable in his past, as Erlómiel had suggested.

"Séremela has only to convince Narmondor to take you in," Erlómiel said thoughtfully. "He's rather gruff on the outside, that is almost a requirement of one in his position, and you will always be prompt and orderly while in Narmondor's household; he runs things on a tight schedule, you know." She smiled in amusement. "People might not always like Narmondor, but they respect him, for he is fair if it kills him."

Essëlaundur's smile brightened, and he hoped that Narmondor did not require a great deal of convincing to agree to having him, for he would have hated to think that he was intruding upon another's life and was unwelcome where he might seek to stay.

As he was thinking of it a shadow fell over him and Essëlaundur realized that the sun had now risen in the sky. When he glanced up to see the shadow's master he saw the bright face of a smiling maiden whom he already thought of as his sister in his mind.

Sermë was holding a small bowl in her hands and a cloth was draped casually over one arm. She was dressed quite simply for travel in a long, loose fitting tunic and soft jerkin and leggings. Her hair was tamed and pulled back from her face, tucked up in several basic braids. 

"Good morning, gwador," she greeted him exuberantly. "Things do look so much more cheerful in the light of day, do they not?"

Essëlaundur smiled at her uncertainly and nodded his head in slight agreement, but he could hardly say if Sermë recognized his response, for she was already turned toward the healer sitting nearby.

"And a good morning to you as well, Erlómiel," Séremela continued. "I am pleased to see that you and Essëlaundur have had some opportunity to speak, for now you can back up my assurances to father when you speak with him later."

"The Captain wishes to see me?" Erlómiel inquired, raising a delicate brow questioningly.

Séremela shrugged slightly, mindful of her movements with the bowl she carried. "I was telling him that Essëlaundur appeared, to my eyes, greatly improved this morning. For he has some healthy color in his complexion now, and I thought that he should be able to keep pace with us. However, not being a healer myself, I suggested that he get your more professional opinion."

It sounded as though Séremela wished to say more upon the subject of her conversation with Narmondor, but that she was restraining herself, possibly, for not wanting to mention it before Essëlaundur and the blonde elf worried about what that could mean.

Erlómiel sighed and rose to her feet in what appeared to be a single fluidly graceful movement. "Then I shall seek the Captain now," she declared, surveying Séremela and Essëlaundur with the knowing smile of one about to impart some great wisdom upon the young and impressionably minded. 

"When a confrontation is inevitable it is always best for you to do the confronting on the other party's time and not on yours," she told them sagely. "It often throws them temporarily off balance if they are not suspecting such from you, and it allows you a small, early advantage."

Séremela laughed in delight. "As you say, Erlómiel," she agreed. "I believe that I would take advantage of any advantage I could win over father."

"Such are my feelings as well," Erlómiel murmured. "So I would take my leave of you for the moment. Perhaps we shall speak again later, Essëlaundur," Erlómiel told him. 

Essëlaundur nodded briefly and watched as she moved swiftly toward the activity of the inner camp. Erlómiel was not at all what he would expect; there was something about her that did not seem completely true to character. Yet he could not fault her, for she was as sweet a lady as he could hope to meet. He certainly hoped that he would see a good deal of her later.

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G A Mercy: Boring chapter, I know, but at least it has a little more substance to it this time. I've been rather displeased with the length of my last two chapters. They were rather short for what is normal for me. ***shakes head*** I'm also beginning to play with Erlómiel's character. I have some interesting ideas for her, but I am not sure that they will all come out in this story. ***shrugs thoughtfully*** We shall have to wait and see.

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*the office is rather suspiciously silent*

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G A Mercy: *glances up and frowns when she spots her muse creeping cautiously around the office lifting pillows and peering under couches* Glorfindel?

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Glorfindel: *jumps in surprise before composing self* Yes Mercy?

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G A Mercy: What in the name of the Valar are you doing?

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Glorfindel: *attempts to keep self from looking guilty, but fails miserably* Nothing.

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G A Mercy: *raises eyebrow* Oh, really? 

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Glorfindel: *fidgets nervously under Mercy's stare before breaking down into hysterics* Mercy, I apologize profoundly! I simply cannot think of what could have happened to them! The little beasts must be off wrecking havoc somewhere but I cannot even begin to imagine where. Chaos and destruction seem to follow them like a dark cloud, but I was only ignoring them for a moment and then I realized how blissfully silent it was and when I turned back to them they had disappeared! I truly didn't mean to loose them –

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G A Mercy: ***interrupts in confusion*** Glorfindel…is it permissible to ask what exactly it is that you are talking about?

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Glorfindel: Your devilish little kitten monsters. I cannot find them anywhere. ***looks mournful and then very offended as Mercy bursts out laughing* **I fail to see what is so amusing about my distressing situation. ***crosses arms petulantly***

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G A Mercy: Didn't you remember? Wil offered to cat sit for us so that we might work on this chapter. The kitties are with her at the moment.

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Glorfindel: Well, I – but – I wish you had told me that sooner!

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G A Mercy: Well, I did think that you had remembered, mellon. 

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Glorfindel: I have been in a state of panic all afternoon over the fate of the little horrors and you mean to tell me that they are being watched over by another? I have been wasting all of this time hunting for them when I could have been relaxing?!

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G A Mercy: *looks at readers and Glorfindel thoughtfully* Perhaps it would just be best if I simply skip to the part where I beg for reviews, opinions, questions, comments, suggestions and whatever else you might care to offer me after having read this chapter…

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Glorfindel: ***ignoring Mercy and the reviewers for the most part in favor of ranting* **All of this time, Mercy! I might have been resting! Do you know that I haven't slept for three days?! Those kittens certainly do not pause in their destructiveness simply because I desire sleep! Oh, no! They would use the chance to create even more mischief. Three days! 

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G A Mercy: I believe that I shall be going as well. Somehow a sleep deprived Glorfindel does not seem safe…Please remember to review? I promise that the fourth Chapter will come sooner than this one has. 

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Glorfindel: Three days!


End file.
